Page 89 of The Ballad of Us
“It sounds like you're viewing this as a binary choice,” she observes. “Either you take the tour and risk everything, or you don't and lose everything. But are those really the only options?”
“Marcus said it's all or nothing.”
“Marcus isn't your higher power, Gray. He's a record executive whose job is to make money. Your job is to protect your sobriety and the life you've made for yourself.”
“So, you think I should say no?”
“I think you should consider what a sustainable yes might look like. What would need to be in place for you to tour safely? What boundaries would you need? What support systems? This could involve having a tour therapist available for regular check-ins, establishing a buddy system with sober companions, or holding daily team meetings to ensure that everyone's well-being is prioritized. It's essential to present a clear plan to executives that outlines practical support systems and risk mitigation strategies for your continued health, well-being, and recovery during the tour.
I think about it, really think about it. “I'd need meetings in every city. Check-ins with Xavier. Regular therapy sessions. Shorter legs with breaks to come home. And...” I pause, knowing this is the big one. “I'd need it not to be eight months. Three, maximum.”
“So present that option.” Dr. Hannah always helps me see things more clearly.
“Marcus will never go for it.”
“Then Marcus can find another band to make money off of.” Her voice is firm. “Gray, your recovery is not negotiable. Your relationship is not negotiable. Your mental health is not negotiable. Everything else? That's just business.”
After the session, I sit alone in the studio, Duke curled at my feet. He's started following me everywhere since the paparazzi scared him. The band has given me space to figure this out, but I can feel their apprehension through the walls.
My phone rings. Rhea.
“Hey, baby,” I answer, immediately feeling a little tension leave my shoulders.
“Leslie told me about the tour offer. Eight months?” she asks, but there’s no anger in her words.
“That's what they want.”
“What do you want, Gray?”
God, I love this woman. There are no accusations or demands, just a simple question. What do I need?
“I want to make music and share it with people. But I want to do it without losing myself or you in the process.”
“You won't lose me, Gray. But you might lose yourself, and that's what scares me.”
“It scares me too,” I confess.
“Then maybe that's your answer. The fact that it scares you means you're taking it seriously, which means you understand the risks.”
I know what’s at stake for the band. Being honest with them is the only thing I can give them. Self-sacrifice is merely self-destruction masquerading as love. We need a plan that gives us a real shot at the future, not a final blaze of glory.
“They need you alive and healthy more than they need money. And if they don't see that, then they're not the brothers you think they are,” Rhea says firmly.
She's right. Of course, she's right. But knowing that doesn't make the decision any easier.
“I'm going to propose a counteroffer with a shorter tour, regional focus, and planned around my recovery needs. If they say no...” I begin.
“If they say no, then we'll figure out what comes next. Together.”
That word—together—wraps around me like armor. Whatever happens with the band, the label, the tour, Rhea and I will face it side by side. Her belief in us steadies my hands. I can do this. I can choose what matters to me, even if it hurts.
“I love you,” I tell her.
“I love you too. And Gray? I'm proud of you for not just saying yes. The old you would have jumped at this without thinking about the consequences.”
After we hang up, I text Andrew.
Gray: Family meeting. One hour.
